


Up Against the Ropes Again

by Ladycat, sharkie335



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie335/pseuds/sharkie335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes. Yes. He wanted all of that, and whatever else Rodney could dredge up to give him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up Against the Ropes Again

**Author's Note:**

> I was bored one day and ladycat777 was kind enough to start tagging with me. This is what resulted - pure crack!fic.

Rodney looked up from the equipment that he was currently testing, surprised when his back and neck cracked. How long had he been at this, anyway? Glancing around, the lack of other scientists, including Zelenka, tipped him off that it was late, very late.

Settling the piece back down on the workbench - it was another version of the lifesigns detector, he thought, unless it was a toaster - he stretched. Time to head back to his room and catch a few hours sleep. Turning, he jumped when he spotted Sheppard leaning against the wall. "Colonel?"

***

John didn't let himself shift, maintaining the smile on his face. "Done before midnight? Rodney you're slacking."

The glare Rodney gave him made the smile feel a little realer. He fell in beside Rodney, listening to him be outraged at John's comment. He was tense, John could see. His shoulders were tight, body canted at an angle that meant his muscles had stiffened up in an awkward position.

John's palms itched.

"Did you eat anything?" he asked when Rodney took a breath. Not original, no, and not particularly suave but it was a serious question -- Rodney forgot to eat more often than his bitching implied.

 

***

"Yes, mother, I ate. Well, a powerbar, but that counts." Rodney let himself fall into step next to Sheppard, letting him lead back to the residential quarters. "And I can't get anymore done tonight without either Zelenka or Simpson, and while I agree that it's slacking for me to go to bed this early, I can wake the two of them nice and early tomorrow and we can get a new start."

Rodney kept rotating his shoulders, trying to get them to relax. He must have been sitting at a funny angle for hours for him to have gotten that tight that quickly.

***

The transporters hummed as they entered, hardly a moment going by before they opened again. John hadn't gotten used to that, really, although he appreciated the expediency. There should have been _motion_ , though. Even in the jumpers and their inertial dampeners, he still felt something that told him was moving, safely ensconced in a machine so vivid it could've been alive.

The corridors were virtually empty. John had set the schedule, so he knew which corridors to take -- even when Rodney gave him an odd look at the detour -- arriving at Rodney's quarters with almost thirty seconds to spare.

When he looked up, Rodney was giving him an odd look. "Well?" he asked, knowing that he sounded blank. He'd always been good at this, hiding emotions like nervousness and want so thick it choked him deep behind barriers. Barriers that were so thick that sometimes he forgot the keys to them.

Still looking confused and maybe a little worried, Rodney keyed open the door. "It'll open for you, of course," he said.

John had long ago learned not to take offense to Rodney's jealousy over the natural gene. It wasn't something either of them could control. "Yeah, but that's rude. It's your room."

 

***

Just as the door started to slide closed behind them, Rodney caught sight of the marine patrol coming down the hall. Hmmm... interesting. Sheppard was trying to avoid the marines?

Wondering why that was, he turned around, intending to ask, and froze. Sheppard had appropriated his desk chair and was slouching in it in a way that his spine should have prevented. Of course, Sheppard had always reminded him of a cat, complete with the ability to put himself in positions that no human who wasn't a gymnast should have been able to obtain.

Rodney's mouth went dry with want and need so strong he was surprised that Sheppard couldn't feel it from where he was sitting. He wanted to make Sheppard bend like that for _him_.

***

Sitting was easier. Sitting got him out of the ramrod straight pose he'd so meticulously learned and if, maybe -- well, if that happened he certainly wasn't going to _object_.

He looked up through his lashes, watching as Rodney moved around the room, unselfconsciously removing shoes with a groan of relief, stripping off the jacket so that he could scratch at the back of his shoulders.

His palms were starting to _hurt_ now. He covered it with bluster. "Christ, Rodney, have you ever cleaned this place? Sit down."

Without waiting to see if Rodney would obey -- and he would, John knew, because was too lazy not to -- John straightened a few of the messes Rodney had been poking at haphazardly, at least making them _neater_ messes, then detoured to the small fridge Rodney kept stocked with 'emergency' supplies and took out the cold tea the Athosians preferred and a plate of the dinner Rodney had missed.

"Sorry I can't heat it up for you," he said, gesturing lamely even though the pasta was meant to be cold.

***

"Stop messing with my stuff, Colonel." Rodney put the stuff back in the piles that Sheppard had disturbed. "One of these days, we're going to need me to be able to put my hands on something here within seconds, and then we'll all _die_ because I can't because you decided to clean." Giving it up as a lost cause, he sat down on the side of the bed and accepted the plate gratefully, practically inhaling the food on the plate. So what if it looked a little weird? Now that there was food in front of him, he was _starving_.

Sheppard was hovering, and Rodney rolled his eyes at him. "Is there something wrong? Not that I don't appreciate you bringing me food and everything, but it's hardly normal for you. Is there something you want?"

***

He straightened abruptly, eyes focusing on a point in the distance, training kicking in. It always did, when he was like this, forcing a body that wanted to shake into unnatural stillness because the alternative wasn't worth thinking about.

He'd hoped, though. Or thought that maybe this time, here and now, he _could_ hope.

Still rigid but hoping his smirk was lopsided and loose enough, he said, "I want you well fed and rested so you can fix our power problem tomorrow, Rodney."

***

Appetite suddenly gone, Rodney sat the plate on the desk carefully, resisting the urge to just throw it at Sheppard. "I hate when you do that, you know."

"When I do what?" And there was that infuriating smirk, the one that told the whole world _Nothing to see here, nothing to keep looking at. Move along, move along..._

Except it was a lie. A huge one. There was something else going on in Sheppard's head, and for once, Rodney was going to find out what it was. "When you pretend that there's nothing wrong. You don't give a shit about the power distribution, since it's minor and only affecting outlying areas. There's another reason you're here, and for once I wish you'd just tell the truth and let me in on it."

***

He always forgot that Rodney could out blunt even his old sergeant, the one that would ask the most offensive questions. It probably gave him a thrill, the old bastard, John thought.

"I don't know what your high school was like, but there's no secret fanclub here." He made his tone light, trying to loosen his shoulders so they wouldn't climb up to his ears. "You overwork yourself and according to pretty much the entire base, it's my responsibility to make sure you don't terrorize anyone along the way. I got the short straw," he finished, shrugging because the words came so close. Damned close.

***

Rodney stared at Sheppard, trying to will him into saying something else, but when he stayed stubbornly silent, he growled to himself. "Right. Short straw. Since I haven't made anyone cry in at least a week, that could be a whole lot more convincing. Besides, I know for a fact that Zelenka drew that straw, not you."

Sliding back on the bed, Rodney folded his hands in front of himself, determined not to just haul off and punch him right in the face. "Wanna try that again? And maybe the truth this time?"

***

Fuck. This wasn't going right and John had no idea how to fix it. There weren't any convenient bars to slip into the back way, knowing there'd be more than enough people who'd want him on his knees, grabbing at him with work-roughened hands and just _taking_ \--

John swallowed, shifting minutely and hoping like hell he wasn't visibly hard yet. "Zelenka passed it off to me," he lied, since he'd more like _ordered_ the Czech to let him take care of it. Zelenka hadn't done more than nod grateful at him, either, before hightailing it back to his own quarters.

"While I have no problem believing that, Colonel, it doesn't explain why you're here."

Fuck, John thought again. Rodney was actually angry, not just frustrated or annoyed, two states that were practically baseline for him. Straightening, his chin lifted a little and he conjured images of a Wraith Queen to try and control himself. "You gonna eat that? Cause if not, I didn't really have much dinner myself."

***

Silently, Rodney pushed the plate towards Sheppard, nodding that he should eat. Watching as he took sharp, precise, neat bites of the pasta, he thought about his guest's behavior.

Sheppard was acting as if there was something that he wanted, but not something that he was willing to talk about. That made no sense - it wasn't like Rodney would care if something Sheppard said was rude or something. That meant that it wasn't the manners of the situation but rather some other reason for him to be reticent.

Rodney waited as Sheppard quickly cleared the plate, and then without a word, moved it to the other side of the room. Coming back, he paused, standing behind Sheppard and taking a deep breath. There was no way that his suspicions were correct, and he was taking a huge chance that Sheppard might just decide to kick his ass, but it was worth it.

"Colonel?" When Sheppard turned to look at him, Rodney kissed him - fast and dry, but an undeniable kiss.

***

He didn't moan. He didn't let his knees buckle the way they begged to. He didn't even kiss back. He just stood there, silently screaming yes with every molecule, letting his mouth open so that Rodney could taste him, if he wanted.

It shouldn't have been a surprise that Rodney kissed so well.

***

Rodney pulled back slowly, closing his eyes and waiting for Sheppard to punch him. When that didn't happen after a moment, he opened one eye and then the other, looking at Sheppard curiously. "Well?"

When Sheppard didn't say anything, he took a deep breath and said, "Unless you object in the next five seconds, I'm going to kiss you again. And some participation might be nice, this time."

***

John tilted his head the moment before Rodney's lips touched his, prompting a better angle. He kissed back, slowly, as lush as he knew how, fingers clenched and knotted as Rodney grew bolder, taking his mouth deeply.

Not even Hive images were softening him now.

He _did_ moan when Rodney bit his lip, and made a breathless sound when Rodney pulled away again, regarding him thoughtfully.

***

Well, this was interesting. Rodney had never suspected that Sheppard might be gay or bi, but he had certainly participated in that kiss. And the moan there at the end...

Rodney didn't bother to warn Sheppard again. This time he brought his hands up, tangling them in John's hair and pulling him down into another kiss - as wet and nasty as he could make it.

***

It was too easy to fall into it, body still except when Rodney needed him to bend or sway into that perfect position. He wanted to touch, to run his hands over Rodney's barrel chest, to rub away the knots he knew lurked in Rodney's neck and shoulders -- but he didn't.

All he did was kiss, aching and grateful, very careful not to ask for anything more.

***

Hands still buried in Sheppard's - well, they were kissing, so maybe Rodney should call him John? - John's hair, Rodney tugged lightly, pulling him back towards the bed. John went willingly, not even making an effort to slow them down, much less stop the forward momentum.

Turning them at the last moment, he let go of John's hair and pushed so that he sat on the edge of the bed. All Rodney wanted to do was follow him down, blanket him with his own body, but that way lay an asskicking if they both weren't clear up front.

"Colonel? John? Tell me what you want, or I'll stop."

***

John fought down the shiver, knees locked, back rigid. "I want..." The words were roughened ghosts of his usual volume, fading into nothing. God, his mouth was dry without Rodney's to wet it.

Rodney folded his arms over his chest. "What? Come on, John, this is something _two year olds_ excel at."

He shook his head, unsurprised when the world swirled around him like oil -- too slow to be water -- in a moving jar. John eyes lit on Rodney's pants, the faint tenting that'd been less so before Rodney pushed him away. He licked his lips, trying not to pant. "Let me. Please. I want."

***

Rodney forced his voice to gentle. "You want what, John? I'll do whatever you need, but you have to _tell_ me."

John shook his head, not in negation but in obvious frustration, and Rodney stepped forward back into John's space. Taking his chin in his hand, he forced John to look at him. "You want me to kiss you some more? Want me to fuck you? Or do you just want me to tell you what to do?"

***

Yes. Yes. He wanted all of that, and whatever else Rodney could dredge up to give him.

But he couldn't _say_ it.

He made a noise, harsh and painful like he'd smoked for decades and couldn't make any kind of sound without a rasp. It wasn't words, he didn't _have_ words. Just throbbing, painful need that kept him so, so still in Rodney's grip, hot and aching between his legs, unable to do anything but beg with his eyes for everything Rodney'd just promised him.

***

If John got any stiffer, he was going to shatter into a million pieces, and Rodney didn't want that on his conscience. Instead, he closed his eyes for a second, just to breathe. It had been a long time since he did anything like this, and he needed that moment to get back into the right mindset.

When his eyes opened, he saw a look of disappointment and frustration on John's face, and he knew that he might have taken a bit to long. Time to see if he was guessing right.

Pulling John back to his feet, he kissed him hard and nasty, his tongue plunging into John's mouth and tasting him thoroughly. Just as suddenly, he broke it off and said, "Take your clothes off, John."

***

Fuck.

Eyes blank with gratitude, John shed his clothes quickly and efficiently -- trembling fingers didn't matter, compared too to many years in the military. Naked, he stood before Rodney and had to work not to drop his head or link his hands behind his back. He was totally unselfconscious at being naked because _he_ didn't care.

He wanted _Rodney_ naked. God, he wanted to suck him down, feel the roughened ache of something too big and too hard battering at the back of his throat. He wanted -- he wanted a lot of things.

***

The fine tremor of muscle under skin made Rodney want to touch, want to taste him all over. John's cock was hard and tight against his belly, red and wet at the tip, and Rodney would have happily sunk to his knees and sucked it for hours.

But that wasn't what John seemed to need right now, so other than giving it a brief longing glance, Rodney ignored it. Ignored John, for that matter, as he turned his back so that he could strip out of his own clothes. If he stopped to think about this, he'd get nervous, and that wouldn't be what John appeared to need.

Naked, he turned back around. The look was fast, but he didn't miss it - John had glanced down at Rodney's dick and then back up so fast that it had been a close thing, however.

Touching John's cheek gently, he brought his attention back to Rodney's face. "Suck me," he said, ignoring the harshness of his voice.

***

His hips jerked at Rodney's tone, sinking down to his knees and putting his mouth around Rodney's cock with a sigh that was as involuntary as the thrust had been.

Rodney was big, a lot bigger than John had expected, flushed red and glossy and John didn't bother with the teasing or tasting he actually wanted to give to Rodney. He'd been told to suck, so he did: taking Rodney as deeply as he could, mouth filled and stretched and painful as he sucked hard, bobbing back and forth.

His eyes fluttered shut as he moved, the pain of muscles long unused to this kind of activity almost as good as the salt-bitter taste that flooded him.

***

Tangling his hands in John's hair, Rodney forced him to move at _his_ pace - a lot slower than John had been going.

The look on John's face was pure pleasure, and it was all Rodney could do to hold at the pace that he had set. But he didn't want to come in John's mouth - or at least not yet. He was curious about how far John would let him go, though.

As part of that, he tightened his hands, holding John's head steady, and started to fuck his mouth in long, smooth, slow strokes, going as deep as he dared on every push in, pulling almost all the way out on every pull out. John's eyes stayed shut, and he didn't pull away at all, just taking it all.

***

Colors swirled in front of his closed eyes, brilliant blues and sparkling whites. He moaned every time crinkly curls brushed his nose or lips or chin, exhalations of air he couldn't afford. Rodney wasn't being cruel, like some were, wasn't taking expressly to take. He was _giving_ : pain and pressure and force, fucking into John's mouth to make sure his jaw would ache when this was over, pulling out to taunt him, to let John lap and whimper around the head of Rodney's cock.

His fingers twitched with the need to touch, and almost he reached out -- more. There had to be more, Rodney was a big, powerful man for all he acted the clumsy fool when it was guns and not spider webbing wires. He could fuck harder, and god, John wanted him to do that. To _use_ him.

***

The sounds John was making were doing their part to push Rodney higher and harder. Soft moans and needy whimpers, and all of them saying _yes, yes, YES_ as loudly as if John was screaming it. Rodney could come from those alone, if he wanted.

But there was something else he wanted - if John would allow it.

Biting down hard on his lip, he pulled out of John's mouth slowly. "John? Do you fuck? Or just this?"

***

The word _anything_ hovered on his tongue, but what actually came out was a gut-wrenching moan that had John frantically tugging his balls back and away to stop himself from coming.

When he looked up again, Rodney was smirking. "I'll take that as a yes?"

Good, that was good, because John didn't think he was capable of speaking. Just scrambling up on the bed when Rodney gestured, barely aware enough to arrange himself in a sprawl he _knew_ would make Rodney hot, because it always did -- limbs loose and dark, chest slightly distended, hips cocked to highlight just how hard he was.

It'd never been naked, of course, but John knew people watched him. Knew _Rodney_ watched him.

***

Rodney had to grab his cock, hard, to keep control, so he wouldn't fall on John and just rut his way to coming right then and there. One deep breath, and he managed to walk to the nightstand, opening it up and pulling out the bottle of slick.

Setting it down on the bed within reach, he studied John for a long moment, long enough that John's breathing stuttered and sped up. Then he smiled, that little half quirk of a smile that never failed to get a reaction from John. "Turn over. Ass up."

John scurried to obey, and Rodney wondered to himself how he'd missed this in him - this fundamental need to obey that John seemed to be exhibiting. Then John was on his knees, face buried in his arms, and Rodney stopped worrying about it, simply crawling up on the bed with no finesse and no grace, to bury his face in John's hot ass.

His hands were firm on John's hips, spreading his ass wide, so he could lick and bite at John's hole, making it wet, making him moan.

***

A tongue was _not_ what John was expecting, and almost he objected. _Not right, this isn't what I -- come on, Rodney, where's the selfish bastard we all know and love?_ he almost complained.

Thirty seconds in, though, and he was glad he hadn't. Rodney was _good_ at this, obviously practiced and pretty intent on driving John out of his mind. John's thighs trembled, his hips rocking because he couldn't hold himself up and locked completely while Rodney used him in a way John had never expected.

Most guys didn't reciprocate unless they had to. John knew he was the same way, even with partners he cared about. That Rodney was opening him with pleasure, not just a few fingers making him burn --

" _Fuck_ ," he hissed when Rodney bit him, cock dripping wet down his leg.

***

"In a minute," Rodney broke off just long enough to say, and John laughed, a chuckle that turned into a moan when Rodney went back to sliding his tongue as far into John as he could get.

When John was shaking under him, hunching his hips to try and get some contact, anything, on his dick, Rodney slid one finger inside him, searching out his hot spot and pressing right into it.

"Oh, holy _shit_ ," John said, coming up on his hands and rocking back into Rodney's hand. Rodney just smiled and continued to lick and suck as best he could while finger fucking John with one finger. John might want to be submissive right now, might want Rodney to use him for his own pleasure, but Rodney had never had a partner who wasn't totally satisfied, and right now, John just had to give in and give it up, because Rodney was going to take his time.

***

This was nothing like John had expected, which, in retrospect, was a stupid thing to do. Rodney *never* acted like anyone expected except when it came to bitching or whining. Everything else was up in the air, and why the hell had John compared him to the grim, silent men he usually did this with, anyway? He didn't know any of them, never went back to the same guy twice, and they were already looking for someone like John.

Rodney hadn't been looking and John hadn't offered so much as _begged_.

Kind of like he was doing then, garbled words that weren't English half the time. It didn't matter, though, not with that pleading, whining, desperate tone of his voice, making him more eloquent then Rodney at his most cutting.

When one finger became two, John scrambled to find someway to grab his cock and not fall face first onto the bed. Rodney was resting a lot of his weight on John's naked, hairy ass and John didn't want to disturb that -- but oh, god, it was so good. No one had ever focused on him like this, carefully finding every place that felt good and then stimulating it until it was nearing pain instead of pleasure.

"Rodney," he gritted out, trying to slow his rocking hips and praying that telepathy would kick in right then, because oh, god, he was going to come. Soon. Right then, and fuck, fuck _three_ and Rodney was still licking over him, sucking on flesh swollen for just those attentions. " _Rodney_."

***

Slowly, Rodney pulled back and away from John, even though he wanted to stay right where he was till John came. He knew that he'd come at the same time, and it would be good, but he knew ways to make it _better_.

"Don't come, John, not yet..." He gave John a second to get his breathing back under control while he reached for the lube. The cold of the slick being spread over his cock gave him the needed push back from the edge, and he slathered it on thick, since he'd only been using spit for his fingers.

Kneeling up behind John, he pushed him forward, and lined up his cock with John's entrance. Slowly, he started to push in.

***

Distantly, John was damned glad the walls were soundproofed. You got used to be quiet in Basic, when it was be made fun of or walk around with blue balls for days -- and be made fun of -- but John couldn't shut up now if he'd been ordered to.

Well. Maybe if Rodney did the ordering and christ, that was a thought.

He bit his own arm to try and muffle the noises, helplessly rocking back. Big and thick, John's body not as loose as Rodney probably expected the way he grunted, but so fucking perfect. The burn raced through his body like a trace, winding over nerves to find his already primed cock and --

"Uh uh." Rodney's fingers were blunt and sweaty as they closed around the base of John's dick, squeezing painfully. "Not yet."

***

Christ, John was hot and tight inside, and maybe Rodney should taken longer to prep him, but he couldn't stand another second outside of John's body.

John whimpered when he gripped his cock, and he knew that it had to be on the painful side, but he didn't care - not at all. He just wanted to hear him moan and sob and rock on his knees as he pressed even deeper.

When his balls were tight against John's ass, he leaned forward, bracketing John's slim body with his own bulkier one and pinned his hands to the bed. It didn't leave him much room to thrust, but it was so, so good. Time to put John's apparent submissiveness to the true test. "Talk to me, John. Now."

***

His body tightened, prompting a grunt from Rodney and _jesus_. Talking? He wasn't chatty under normal circumstances, random conversation while he was getting his mind fucked out with every thrust of Rodney's cock?

The worst part was that because Rodney asked him to, he _wanted_ to know. Words crowded in his throat, mixing together into meaningless sounds because Rodney said _talk_ and like this, John could only get pulled along for the ride.

"Bastard," he hissed, rocking back, muscles clamping down to try and distract Rodney. "You have to talk while we're _fucking_?"

***

Rodney tightened his hands on John's hips, forcing him to still. "I have to know what you _want_ , John. Do you just want a fuck?" He thrust in hard on the word. "Or do you want more? Want me to hold you down and use you?"

John was quiet long enough that Rodney was thinking that putting it out there so baldly had been a bad idea. But he really did want to know, and this seemed the only way to find out.

***

"Yes." The word was harsh and guttural to his own ears. "Christ, yes, _that_. Don't make me -- can't talk. Just -- "

Carefully, John inched his knees wider, letting Rodney lean more heavily against him and sink in a little deeper on his next stroke. John groaned, clenching his teeth. God, if Rodney actually found his prostate this was going to be over humiliatingly fast and John didn't want that. Not if Rodney was going to back off, once he'd come.

His thighs ached from the new position.

***

Rodney groaned as he sunk in even deeper. _Fuck_ , he'd wanted to... he was trying to... _fuck it_. Making a mental note that after they were done, he was going to make John talk if it killed both of them, he let it go.

Sliding his hands up John's sides to his shoulders, he forced them back down into the bedding, leaving him on his knees. Immediately, John started to try to rock again, tying to get Rodney to move, but without thinking, Rodney slapped John on the ass. "Hold still."

***

The response was immediate: stillness. Total and complete enough that his lungs started burning and his eyes grew dry and painful because _hold still hold still hold still._

***

The effect was startling. John held so still that Rodney wasn't even sure he was breathing. Rocking his hips a little, just a curve of his spine, he asked, "You like that, John? Liked me smacking your ass?"

***

He nodded; couldn't do anything else.

Rodney's hand found his hip, fingers skating over the valleys and growing slick from John's sweat. "Could I tell you to do anything?"

It was a true question, a scientist's thirst to always know more, and John had to bite his own wrist until it bled to stop himself from coming.

***

This... was interesting. And it had potential. But for right now, it was time to give John what he'd been so patiently waiting for.

Pulling back till just the head of his cock was still inside John, Rodney slammed back in, simultaneously landing a loud smack on his ass, instantly leaving a bright red handprint.

Another, and another, till John was moaning loudly and Rodney knew the only thing keeping him still was his own order. "Going to make you come like this, John. Just my cock in your ass. Then... we'll see what happens."

***

His mind was nothing but blue, the faintest hint of white shimmering like silver skirting the edges. He was _flying_ , lost and gone into the wide expanse that was pure pleasure laced with pain, his cock harder than steel. Each thrust set off a cascade of noise he muffled into a bloody wrist, sounds that could've been begging, probably were pleading, and so full of longing that he couldn't listen to himself make them.

_Let me let me let me._

The bed rocked and shuddered underneath each harsh slam of Rodney's body, the slap ricocheting through the emptiness of John's skull and it had to be now, it had to be _now, please_.

***

Gripping John's hips tightly, ignoring the sweat dripping off his face and chest, the way that his heart felt like it was going to beat its way right out of his chest, Rodney slammed in deep, deeper, feeling the way that John's channel clenched around him, waiting for that moment when John would finally break, finally give it up for him.

All he wanted to do was come, but he was determined to feel John come first.

***

Their movements grew more intense, no longer rhythmic but jerky and almost painful -- _more painful_ \-- and soon Rodney's grunts and increasingly frantic groans intruded on the headspace he'd built for himself.

Then Rodney found the right angle.

"Tell me," John demanded, too guttural to be whining, too rough to be friendly. "Fuck -- Rodney _tell me_."

 

***

It only took a second for Rodney to realize what John was saying. Damn - how could he have been so stupid. Ah, well, "C'mon, John. Come for me - give it up. Now, John."

***

The chant of yes may've made it out loud, John didn't know. All he knew was that he was breaking apart, seams dissolving into nothing as he came and came.

***

As John chanted, "Yes, yes, yes," over and over, he shook below Rodney. It only took another stroke, and it felt like Atlantis herself was coming apart.

Rodney collapsed forward, pressing John down into the bed until he caught his breath. Then, realizing that John probably needed to breathe as well, he rolled off John and the bed, going to the bathroom and coming back with a washcloth to clean John up.

***

His body throbbed, vision graying out on the down of each pulse. John rolled onto his back when Rodney prompted him to, legs splayed out lewdly as Rodney cleaned him up. He watched, eyes slitted, licking over his teeth to try and find the last remaining hints of salt in all the copper he tasted.

When Rodney came back the 'need to talk' face was loud and clear. But John didn't _want_ to talk and as much as he hated topping from the bottom, he knew Rodney and he knew what to do.

The moment Rodney sat down, still naked and strangely beautiful with his imperfect body, John rolled over and began licking at Rodney's cock. He wasn't actively trying to get Rodney hard again, just cleaning up the bits of come that Rodney's less-then-perfect washing had missed, letting the hot, hot flesh melt against his tongue like ices.

***

Rodney had meant to talk to John about this, he really did. But then there was a hot mouth on his oversensitive dick, and what man could think, much less talk when that was happening? Even a genius would have trouble concentrating.

So he let his hands trail through John's hair as little eager sounds broke from his throat, matched by the ones that John was making. He didn't think he could get hard again this quickly, but it didn't change the fact that it felt good.

***

John didn't smirk as Rodney went lax, sinking back against his precious prescription mattress so John could touch and taste him wherever his mouth took him.

It was a near thing, though. Rodney was really too easy, sometimes.

But he had a pliant body to stroke and tease, Rodney's noises almost as good as the sex had been. John lost himself in it, mouth and teeth and fingers cataloging every bit he could find, from the faint scars on Rodney's belly -- where the hell had those come from -- to nipples that were _really_ sensitive, to shoulders that were still bunched too tight even after orgasm.

Gently, John rolled a mildly protesting Rodney onto his belly and began kneading his shoulders. "Good?" he asked. His mouth felt raw.

***

Rodney couldn't reply, too busy melting into the mattress to concentrate on making his mouth work. It had been far, far too long since he got any sort of massage, a fact that his back was informing him of. Loudly.

As John's hands ran down either side of his spine, Rodney heard the _crunch_ of vertebrae sliding back into place, and the inaudible, but no less vivid, sensation of the muscles in his back relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever.

Finally, he managed to find words, just as John started to work out the knots in his low back. "Why - ow - are you being nice to me?"

***

John sat on Rodney's ass, just because he could, working the muscle to Rodney's right shoulder -- that one was the tensest, from typing and the mousework Rodney still did. "Who said I'm doing it for you?"

***

"Right, because you're getting so much out of giving me a backrub." Rodney forced himself to turn over, so that John was perched over his hips and he could see John's face. "I know you hate to talk, but you're not going to be able avoid this forever. And if you want a repeat performance, I need to know what you want from me."

***

Christ, all Rodney *did* was order people around and expect them to jump at his commands. Was it so hard for him to do the same with John?

"You did fine before," he admitted slowly. "It's not something you can talk about, okay? And yeah. I was getting something out of giving you a backrub."

Denied the back, John let his hands work over the sides of Rodney's neck and the dip between shoulder and chest. Rodney was _big_ there, broader than he was by a lot, with a depth that wasn't anything but muscle. John kneaded at the muscles, concentrating fully on them so he wouldn't actually analyze the expression on Rodney's face.

***

Blowing out a breath of frustration, Rodney gave up. He just had to hope that if - no, _when_ \- he messed up, John would tell him. In the meantime, he had a naked John sitting on him, and if that wasn't distraction enough, there was what John was doing to him.

Then Rodney really _looked_ at John's face, and he softened. John looked scared, though he'd probably never admit it. Rodney couldn't really blame him - it was probably terrifying to have one's personal preferences pulled out and examined like this.

"Come down here," he said, tugging gently on John's shoulder, pulling him down into a kiss that was a whole lot more gentle than anything they'd done earlier.

***

John rested his weight on his elbows, trying not to smother Rodney as he held his mouth open for Rodney to take -- except, he really didn't.

Damn him. John had forgotten that you put Rodney with someone he genuinely _liked_ and he was a lot less bluster and demand then before.

So John kissed back, slow and careful, like Rodney was the kind of girl he'd dated on and off over the years. He tried to tell himself that it was because then Rodney would hurry up and fuck him again, or do _something_ where John didn't have to think but for doing what he was told and coming hard enough that it hurt --

But that wasn't the reason at all.

***

Rodney manhandled John onto his side, so they were lying together in a tangle of limbs. He hadn't missed the way that John was tensing back up, and he didn't like it, not at all.

Biting a soft path back to his ear, he murmured quietly. "You need it rough, John? Is that better for you?"

***

Yeah, it was then. John wiggled, groaning when Rodney's big, big hand closed around his cock, tugging it almost roughly.

"Like that?"

Rodney repeated the gesture, eyes twinkling as John gasped, body convulsing a little. "Nngh," he managed.

***

Liking that sound, Rodney continued to tug and pull on John's cock, making him almost incoherent. His other hand slid down over John's back and ass, finding his entrance and sliding two fingers inside. He was still slick from earlier, and Rodney grinned. He could work with this, he really could.

It took some doing, but eventually Rodney had John turned on his back, two fingers up his ass. Rodney moved down his body, biting and licking at his nipples briefly before moving down further and sucking John's cock into his mouth.

He wasn't careful with his teeth, and he heard John gasp as they raked over the tender head. Grinning, he pulled back and looked up at John. "Want me to stop?"

***

John managed to put just a touch of _don't you fucking dare_ in with his _no, no, don't even think of it_ glare, figuring Rodney would respond better to that. That Rodney had to be goaded into actually taking control was ... actually on the amusing side, although John would never, ever tell him that.

But once Rodney finally got with it, fingering him and scraping lines of pink-white over his hardening cock -- hardening damn faster than he should've, given how hard he'd just come... God, he was good. "Really are a genius," he croaked, thrashing as Rodney _bit_ his _balls_.

***

"No shit, Sherlock," Rodney laughed, and bit again, right where balls met body. John thrashed again, gasping, and Rodney didn't bother to hide the smile. He was apparently getting it right, and he wasn't going to hide the fact that he was enjoying this almost as much as John was.

He also wasn't going to ask any more questions. He'd given John plenty of chances to tell him what he wanted, and now he was just going to take. He figured another few minutes of torture, and then he'd be hard enough to fuck John again.

***

Without thinking about it, John lifted his arms above his head, scrabbling at the wall and barely conscious enough to curse the Ancients for not understanding what headboards were for. Finally he just curled a wrist around the edge of the mattress, clinging as more bites were scattered over his skin, harder and deeper, while two fingers became three, probing against loose muscle to find new ways to make him jerk and gasp.

***

A hard bite to John's thigh made him moan and thrust up. Rodney backed off enough to look him over, admiring the flushed color, the bruising bites scattered over his stomach and thighs. Sliding up onto his knees, he shifted till he was up against John, hard cock pressing against his entrance.

"Gonna fuck you again, John. Going to fuck you so hard," he said, lining up his cock and pressing home in one long stroke.

Skin caught and tugged without additional lube, but it didn't _hurt_ so Rodney didn't stop.

***

John's fist flew to his mouth, teeth pressing hard against bone. Rodney's bull-thrusting, callus and uncaring in ways they really actually weren't, weren't at all, but just _taking_ \--

His mind fractured as pain rolled over him, cresting up to draw him back with the undertow. His hips stung with the need to move, to thrust back -- but he didn't. He didn't just _lay_ there, legs tight around Rodney's ass and waist, body clenching tighter for both of them.

But he didn't _move_. Didn't thrust back, fucking himself on Rodney's cock. He let Rodney fuck _him_ , taking everything Rodney gave as sweetly as he knew how.

***

Rodney leaned forward on his hands, practically bending John in half and pinning him with his greater bulk as he fucked him in long, smooth strokes. His mouth sought out John's, kissing him harshly as he fought to keep words behind his teeth. John didn't want to talk, he wanted to be used, and roughly, and Rodney could do that, but it didn't quiet the questions raging in his head, about what had broken John so badly that he needed this.

So instead, he fucked John hard, and kissed him till he tasted blood, and said nothing at all.

***

John knew he was making noises around the tongue in his mouth, the one he sucked on and caressed with his own, but he couldn't hear them. All he heard was the machine-fire of his own heartbeat, the roar of blood rising like mercury in his ears. He didn't know what was saying -- _if_ he was saying anything at all beside more and yes and _please_.

John Sheppard never begged. Not until he was in this place, where he could plead and shout and cry, give in to what built inside him, ruthlessly shoved down for weeks and months and decades at a time.

His fingers were bleeding where he'd bit them. He trailed a streak of red over Rodney's side -- thickly muscled and so damned broad, flexing with a strength and surety his clumsy running had never even hinted at -- wanting desperately to lick it off. But that would be later, after Rodney fucked every last brain cell from him, every fear and uncertainty, every question.

Rodney's cock was too big inside him. Not slick enough. Pounding, use, breaking him, splitting and spitting him until John had to arch back to relieve the pressure on his hips.

For more.

***

Rodney smiled grimly at the words spilling out of John's mouth. He doubted that John knew what he was saying, and he'd never tell, but they told him that he was doing the right thing. "Rodney, oh, god, Rodney. Fuck me, fuck me, _hurt_ me, fuck me."

His hands shifted from the bed to John's shoulders, closing tightly and forcing him into an even tighter bow. The hard line of John's cock pressed into his stomach, but he made no effort to touch it.

Instead, he leaned down and whispered in John's ear. "Is this what you want, John? Want me to fuck you and use you like the slut you are?"

***

The words echoed oddly in his skull, looping and twisting so that Rodney sounded like a slowed-down tape. The meaning was still clear though. "Yeah," he gasped, slurring too heavily to manage diction he never cared for even when he was in control. "God -- _yeah_ , please, make it _stop_ \-- "

***

Slamming into John one more time, Rodney froze in place. "Make what stop, John? Tell me and I'll make it stop, I promise."

***

Fuck, no, not _Rodney_ stopping. Frustrated beyond measure, John flipped them -- only just managing it -- and finally started fucking himself back and down onto Rodney, driving with all the frantic intensity Rodney had given him before, and maybe even more.

"No more questions," he snarled, just barely holding Rodney down as he struggled. John didn't want this, not really, but the thick burn was the same, the trembling in his thighs a new dimension that pushed him towards the mindless _feeling_ he craved. "Not everything has an answer Rodney, and you don't _want_ \-- "

***

Rodney frantically grabbed at John's hips, at his sides, anything to try and slow his frantic pace, fearful that John was really going to hurt himself in his quest for oblivion.

"John? John! You need to _stop_. Now!" Rodney put every bit of command he possessed into his voice, hoping that it would be enough.

***

John _mewled_ , head back and gasping, but it didn't matter. Command was command and whether it was training or his own spiraling need, he went still on top of Rodney, ass grinding into the cup of Rodney's hips.

***

He'd never admit it to anyone, but he was more than a little scared. John's intensity of reaction was a scary thing. Rodney, more than anything, wanted to know what was going on in John's head, but he decided that he was never going to figure it out till John calmed enough to talk to him. And _that_ wasn't going to happen until he managed to get John through this and out to the other side.

Steeling himself, he slapped John on the ass and said, "Up." John whimpered and ground his hips down for a moment, until Rodney smacked him again. That got him moving, and Rodney rolled them as soon as John lifted clear of his cock. His cock slid right back inside, as if it never wanted to leave John's ass, and Rodney slid deep, setting a hard, punishing paste from the get go.

***

John didn't know what kind of noise he made when Rodney shoved back inside -- _better, god, better don't go_ \-- but he knew he'd be embarrassed about it later.

Much later.

Rodney's hips were bruising as he fucked him, cock hard and angry, a physical extension of Rodney's frustration. John knew Rodney was angry, upset at what John was demanding, but John _couldn't_ explain. There wasn't anything _to_ explain, not while he whimpered and moaned, hips somehow widening so Rodney could fuck him even more deeply.

John knew he wouldn't be able to walk after this. Neither would Rodney. They'd have to stay together, sated and hurting, minds blasted out with orgasm -- and oh, god, _thinking_ that, Rodney pushing him to the white noise place where nothing existed at all, taking Rodney there with him until neither of them were thinking or worrying or responsible for anything. Where it was just the animal grunt of want and need and _empty_ \--

Kaleidoscopes bloomed in front of his eyes as he came, biting his fist bloody as he clenched and spasmed around Rodney's cock, sliding into black even as his body continued to jerk in release that needed no mind to control it.

***

Even as John came and jerked around Rodney's cock, he slid one hand through the mess that landed on his chest and circled his cock, pulling it roughly. "Oh, no you don't. You want it rough, don't you? I'm going to make you come again if it kills me."

***

John blinked, hazy and confused, and ... still being fucked. Normally him sliding into unconsciousness got him abandoned in disgust, something John knew better than to be anything but grateful for -- but Rodney was still fucking him.

Hell, Rodney was _jerking_ him, roughly scraping his palm over John's cock. It hurt, nothing at all pleasurable -- but John still got hard, still moaned and leaned up into the touch, letting Rodney do what ever he wanted.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he panted, the words strange and heavy against his tongue. "Take it fr'm me."

***

"I'm going to, John. Going to take everything I can from you." Rodney was close, but he hadn't come yet, and focusing on John's cock let him push his own orgasm back - advantages of being older, he guessed.

John opened his mouth to say something else, and Rodney shut him up by leaning down and kissing him deeply.

***

John knew he was jerking like he'd been shocked, images flickering in and out of focus as his eyes rolled back. Rodney was punishing him with each twist of his wrist, each thoughtless shove of his hips. Using him.

And he couldn't get enough.

***

Rodney twisted his wrist, feeling John's gasp all the way down to his balls. Fucking him hard, hearing the moans and whimpers that ripped from his throat. It was getting to be too much, and he could feel the orgasm building against his will.

Biting down hard on John's throat, he let it rip through him, leaving him gasping and still, still, jerking John's cock, desperate to make him come a third time.

***

Feeling it inside him, hot and wet and _everywhere_ , leaking out to slide down his ass... It should have been gross. It had _been_ gross, too many frantic back-room clean ups, cursing sloppy fucks that wanted to mark him in some way, since the way John wanted wasn't allowed.

Except. Except Rodney hadn't _cared_ about that.

The bite in his neck throbbed in time with Rodney's pounding pulse, zinging through John's body until he could hardly feel the frantic jerking of his cock. Everything narrowed to the bite on his neck, deep and painful and bruising, and the come that filled him, mixing with sweat and blood and oh, god it _hurt_ , it hurt so _much_.

Rodney made a frustrated noise, almost elbowing him in his efforts to find a better angle. John wanted to laugh, wanted to soothe Rodney, making him feel so good, but all he could do was throw his head back, trying to stop the howl as he came a third time. No pleasure, just aching, perfect release.

***

Rodney collapsed face down, only just managing to let go of John's legs so that he wasn't crushing him completely. It took him a minute to try and catch his breath, and then he heard the sounds John was making - soft whimpers and mindless moans. Shifting, he curled around John and tried to shush him. "Shh, John, I've got you."

***

John burrowed into the heat that surrounded him. It was always like this, after. He'd been abandoned before, kicked, called a freak -- hell, once some oddly considerate guy had called the paramedics. That'd been fun.

He'd never been held before. He'd never known he wanted it.

Moans straining through his teeth, John buried his face in Rodney's shoulder and let himself shake and shiver through all the places the pain revealed, all the silt that'd been dregged up, swirling through his system and leaving, emptying him. He hooked his fingers deep into Rodney's skin, not wanting to let go. To go back to where it wasn't warm, where the pain wasn't so perfect, where John was Colonel and every moment meant another decision he wasn't sure he knew how to make.

God, Rodney was warm.

***

Rodney let John cling for all he was worth, doing more than a little of his own as his eyes traveled over the damage done to John in the last few hours. Traces of blood on his lips, the bruising bites on his neck and thighs and stomach, the bloody wrist where John had been biting.

Carefully, he turned them so that John was pillowed on his shoulder. With gentle hands, he petted and stroked John as he shivered and shook.

"It's okay, John. I've got you and I'm not going anywhere."

***

If he'd been able, John would've laughed. Probably hysterically. "Wh-who are you and where the hell is McKay?" he demanded through chattering teeth. "You're not _nice_ , Rodney, to anyone. And I've got to be bruising you." His fingers had sunk whitened furors in Rodney's arms.

Rodney just rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he said. "Just shut up until you can calm down and tell me what the hell is going on."

He held John a little more tightly after that, and John clung back just as hard. This whole thing had been painfully different for both of them, John shoved out of his role as protector -- which he liked, dammit -- and Rodney pushed into the role of someone who didn't ask too many questions and just _understood_. Or at least went along with it.

John delicately kissed Rodney's shoulder.

***

They were nothing but a teasing tangle of limbs, interwoven so tightly at this point that Rodney wasn't sure they'd ever be able to get untangled. He didn't try, though, because that same tangle would let him find out - eventually - what the hell was going on.

In the meantime, he just held John tightly, kissed the side of his face, and bit his own tongue to stop the questions from boiling out.

***

God, he was going to hurt in a few hours. Not just his ass, which was going to force some careful dancing around Beckett for a while, but all over. Each muscle trembled and shivered its way towards relaxation, leaving him feeling like something pounded and flattened and _still_.

For at least a few hours, anyway.

Carefully, John teased the skin over Rodney's collarbone, mouthing it as the steady _thud_ of Rodney's heart offered a lullaby. No wonder he didn't let himself stick around afterwards, those few times he'd been the first to get back to his feet. The same reason he rarely drank himself drunk with others around: his hands were kneading against Rodney's side and arm, caressing the skin with absentminded affection.

"I didn't know you turned into a cat, once you'd gotten your end away."

John grinned, adding a graze of teeth to his kisses. "You're complaining?"

"I _own_ cats, John. Well, I only owned one before we left, but I've had up to three, and at least you aren't using me as a scratching post. Currently."

John had to swallow down a noise that was _not_ a purr as big, broad hands stroked down his spine. If this was what Rodney was like with his cats, they probably loved the ornery bastard. God, he had good hands. A good cock, too. "I'm gonna have to talk to you, aren't I?"

"Do you remember what I did to your precious Sergeant Landy?" The whole _city_ remembered what Rodney had done to Sergeant Landy, who'd deserved every bit of it, and weren't they all glad the _Deadalus_ could ferry home those who wanted a transfer? Or those who'd been systematically terrorized into wanting it. "And I _know_ you."

Right. So, talking. Staring down at Rodney's chest, John realized he'd been kissing definable patterns into Rodney's skin -- he didn't look closely enough to figure out what kind of patterns. He'd had therapy before. He kissed the base of it, just for another few seconds quiet. "It doesn't happen a lot."

***

"I figured that out, since I've never seen you with the kind of marks that I've left on you."

One of John's hands came up to trace the bruise on his neck, where Rodney had bitten him so hard. "Yeah. I normally won't let marks get left that show."

Rodney brushed away John's fingers and pressed lightly on the mark, causing John's eyes to flutter shut and him to moan softly. "Why did you let me?"

***

God, he wanted to be a teenager again so he could show Rodney just how good that felt. And thoughts like that were frightening enough that John shoved it away, focusing on the dull hurt and the words Rodney wanted to hear from him.

He shrugged, careful not to dislodge Rodney's touch. "You didn't let me," he tossed out. Not a lie, even, although not lightyears next to the truth.

Rodney retaliated by letting _go_.

Bastard. Bastard who knew him too damned well, even of Rodney probably wasn't aware just how deep the understanding was. Sighing, John pushed his neck against Rodney's fingers. "You... weren't just some guy in a bar," he said, intentionally mumbling the words. "You weren't a bastard who wanted to fuck." _You're Rodney_ , he wanted to add. _I know you. I trust you._

But Rodney couldn't hear that without thinking of other things John knew better than to bring up. Duranda was a while ago, and John had gotten over it completely when Rodney was dripping, cold, and babbling to visions only he could see in the back of a jumper. Except Rodney probably didn't know that.

***

Rodney carefully gathered John back up in his arms and went back to petting him. John was a heavy, limp weight that was unresisting to Rodney's attempts at affection.

John may have wanted it rough, but this was what Rodney wanted. He'd never admit it, but he was touch starved, and the simple contact of skin on skin was addictive.

"So, even at home this was... rare for you. Is it something that you want every time you have sex? Or just sex with guys? Or not even always then? Is there anything you won't do? I mean, do you want this to be a one time affair or - "

John cut him off, laughter in his eyes. "Slow down, Rodney. One question at a time."

Rodney looked off to the side and tried not to let his feelings show in his eyes. "Am I - is this a one night stand, then?"

***

It was easier to press his mouth against hot, needy skin, to run his fingers up sides that were just the slightest bit ticklish. He'd known, of course. Hell, it was why he was _here_ instead of finding an Athosian outside his command and daily interaction who'd be willing. He knew there'd be at least one or two -- like always called to like.

Rodney, though. He wasn't _like_. He was Rodney, and John didn't want to have this conversation at all. He wanted to go to sleep and wake up and try and minimize the bruising as much as possible and go about his day, praying for no major disasters.

Then he wanted to come back to Rodney's quarters, or have Rodney come back to his own and maybe they'd do this again, or maybe they wouldn't. They weren't kids and John was going to _hurt_ tomorrow, Rodney probably too, given the acrobatics John had forced from him. But if they didn't do this again, they'd bitch and snark about their day, just like they always did, and then they'd tumble onto Rodney's cement-like mattress -- or John's, Rodney bitching about how this was going to kill his back, John promising to fix it for him just so he'd _shut up_ \-- and then they'd go to sleep.

Actually, 'want' wasn't really a good word to indicate just how much John was afraid he needed that.

He didn't say any of that, though. He just shrugged, hands and mouth busy against Rodney's skin. "Kind of up to you, isn't it? I didn't exactly give you a choice."

***

If he had been ten years younger, parts of Rodney would already be wanting to play again. John's mouth was hot and wet against his skin, his hands searching out all the places where he was most sensitive.

But he wasn't, and he'd just had two mindblowing orgasms in far too little time. And _that_ meant that he could focus on asking questions, something he knew John wished he'd just stop doing.

"John? I _know_ what I want. But I can't read your mind. What do you want from me?"

***

"Rodney McKay admitting he can't do something?" It was a low-blow, but John didn't analyze things as closely as Rodney did, and he sure as hell didn't want to talk about this. Ever. He licked over Rodney's nipple, sucking on it since he knew that short-circuited Rodney's brain pretty good. "I should tell Zelenka. He'll make a poster."

Beneath him, Rodney made a noise that was purely, purely McKay -- a lot exasperated, a little truly annoyed, and a lot of humor and affection that John didn't think Rodney himself was aware of. "Jackass," Rodney hissed, arching into John's mouth. "Just gimme a damned answer. Am I going to wake up with you gone?"

John added teeth, just a hint of them. "Only if you kick me out."

He hadn't meant to say that. But breathing in the scent of Rodney and sex and sweat and hearing Rodney _moan_ \-- he'd wanted to say it.

***

Rodney couldn't believe it. Somehow, he was getting hard _again_ \- something that he'd believed he was too tired to do. He gave up on asking more questions, and just focused on the sensations flowing through him.

Reaching down, he tugged on John's shoulders till he moved up, kissing him deeply and thoroughly. He knew that he couldn't go another round as rough as what they'd been doing, but maybe...

"You could fuck me, if you want to?"

***

Jesus. John stared, eyes wide as Rodney -- he -- _jesus_.

Rodney was only as bad at reading people as he wanted to be, so John immediately ducked his head down to kiss Rodney's sternum. "I appreciate the offer," he said in a strangled voice. "But I'd rather suck you."

***

Christ, who would turn down that mouth? Only someone with more self control than Rodney had, that was for sure. But there was no reason for it to be all one sided.

"We could - suck each other?"

***

There was a burn scar on Rodney's stomach. John nursed the slick-shiny skin for a little, trying to figure out the best way to say this. Settling for the cockiest grin he could manage, he caught Rodney's eyes, quirking his eyebrows up. "Rodney. _You_ may still be the energizer bunny of the thirty-somethings, but _I_ couldn't get it up with a crane after that."

It wasn't humiliating. It _wasn't_ , and he wasn't flushing as Rodney's cock jerked, hardening against John's shoulder.

Slithering down further, John nuzzled the base of Rodney's cock. "Let me suck you," he asked again, voice a burr of want his body couldn't match. "Slow and wet, long as you want."

***

"Oh, God," Rodney couldn't help the moan that broke loose. The vibrations of John's words right against the base of his cock made him even harder.

One of his hands drifted down, carding through John's hair, which was sweat soaked. "Need to clean up before - before you do that."

***

 

John didn't bother answering. There were only a few things he'd verbally cop to, and that was _not_ one of them. Instead he just dragged his tongue up the length of Rodney's cock, tasting semen and sweat and nothing else.

He grinned as Rodney moaned, head falling back onto the pillow. He'd thought Rodney would be that easy.

He worked his tongue for a moment, wanting this to be as wet and slow as he'd promised -- Rodney had to be sore after nearly _dry_ fucking him, and even if he'd been an ass about it, John knew he still had a lot of that popping, fizzy _thing_ riding underneath his shoulders. Giving this to Rodney, making him feel nothing but good -- John wanted that pretty badly.

Mouth almost too heavy with wet, John slowly eased Rodney's cock in, taking him nearly all the way. No deep throating, not yet, but John wouldn't mind if Rodney wanted that. Keeping the pressure slow and steady, John bobbed along Rodney's cock, his tongue fluttering with broad strokes designed to comfort and sooth as much as titillate.

***

One hand still tangled in John's hair, Rodney let himself relax into the sensation. John was _good_ at this.

His mouth was soft, and gentle around Rodney's cock, and all he could do was moan and lie there and take it as John's tongue did evil things to him. "John, fuck, that feels so good."

John chuckled, and the vibration made Rodney arch up off the bed. He was oversensitive from all the stimulation, and it wasn't going to take much, he knew that. Just as he was thinking that, John slowed even further, making Rodney whimper.

***

His jaw burned, the joint threatening to pop, and John was as close as he could come to bliss. He liked sucking cock, the heavy, heated weight on his tongue, the inversed power that could either humble or energize him. This time it was humbling, Rodney's shuddering body moving sweetly under John's touch. Accepting.

Eyes sliding shut, John opened his throat and inhaled deeply. It'd been a while since he'd deep-throated but he knew it'd push Rodney over the edge and god, feeling him come so hot and bitter on the back of his tongue. _Choking_ John, almost knotting like a dog --

John moaned as he took Rodney in all the way.

***

As he slid into the tight, constricting heat of John's throat, Rodney cried out. "Fuck. Oh, fuck - John!"

John didn't stop, didn't pull back. Instead, he _swallowed_ and Rodney felt like he was being turned inside out by sheer pleasure and bliss. He knew that John probably could barely breathe, and that he shouldn't be turned on by that, but still, it was so _intense_ and so _good_ and it was more than he could stand.

He tried to warn John, but all he got out was, "Christ, I'm co-" before he couldn't speak anymore, white hot pleasure causing him to black out.

***

Licking his lips, John slid onto his hip and elbow. He _should_ poke Rodney awake, retaliation for him forcing John back to consciousness before. In fact, that had a very great deal of appeal...

But Rodney let out a snore, settling more deeply on the bed, face totally lax and content -- and John didn't have the heart. So he rose, limping a little from a bruised hip and returned with a wet wash-cloth to clean them both up a little before stretching out beside Rodney.

He knew Rodney would wake up soon. The man never slept more than a few hours at a time, always popping awake to ensure nothing terrible had happened, sinking back into rest without realizing he'd even been awake.

John in his bed would probably keep him up, but until then John could close his eyes and drift.

***

The next day, surprisingly, wasn't awkward.

Well, there was the occasional fumble as they tried to maneuver around each other in the shower. And the way Rodney's mouth slanted critically as he looked over John's black, blue, and still red body, ignoring his own bruises or the shoulder tension that John absently fussed over as they got dressed.

But it wasn't unusual for them to go to breakfast together, so despite Rodney's jumpiness -- and John's, although he hid it better -- no one gave them fishes.

"J -- Colonel, they're _looking_ at us!" Rodney hissed over decent approximations of pancakes.

John wished for syrup instead of jelly made from rrani fruit, which tasted maybe like peaches. He hated peaches. "No, _Rodney_ , they aren't. Are we still doing the puddlejumper mock ups at ten?"

"What? How can you be so -- and you aren't supposed to be part of that test! You weren't even supposed to _know_ about it, and if Zelenka told you I'm going to shave off every one of those wispy brown curls of his," Rodney steamed, and the day pretty much went on from there.

Okay, so sometimes Rodney would give him a look that had intimate stamped all over it, even if it was just Rodney frowning over John's exposed wrist and the bandage they'd slapped on before leaving Rodney's quarters. And once or twice Rodney had to stop himself from touching, but John had that problem, too.

And none of it garnered any odd looks at all. John wasn't sure if that said something about his and Rodney's relationship or the kind of people he worked with. Probably a mix of both.

That night, John followed Rodney back to his quarters. "Your bed is _hard_ ," he accused, already stretched out over it because Ronon had picked up on some of bruises but hadn't cut him any slack for them. "I want a soft bed."

Rodney's mouth twisted, resolutely staring at the desk. "Yes, that's what _your_ quarters are for, Colonel."

He didn't flinch, but just barely. Rodney didn't usually pull his punches, but he rarely went right for the jugular that way. "You called me John before. And I figure my side'll soften eventually."

"That's a _prescription_ mattress," Rodney snapped, "it better not soften!" Too busy being annoyed, it took another thirty seconds for the scowl to fade, replaced by something wondering and _young_ , painfully so. Visibly confused, eyes flickering as his brain processed the new information, Rodney sat next to him on the bed and absently groped for the bruise on John's throat, artfully concealed with a high-necked shirt, touching it.

The light, glancing stroke was just a warning. While John was tilting his head for better access, Rodney _pressed_ , heavy and firm, and then watched with interest as John went utterly boneless on Rodney's bed.

And hard.

"I'm not going to be able to, um, give you what you want tonight." It was almost a humble admission, contradicted by the way Rodney scratched over black and blue, adding red and prompting John to moan loudly. But for Rodney, who could do anything, it was quiet and even modest.

Twisting just a little, John nuzzled into Rodney's arm. "Really? Cause I was thinking that sixty-nine you suggested last night and maybe watching another Farscape episode. Or do you just wanna crash?"

The tone was diffident and yielding. But John knew Rodney heard the pleading, saw the need written all over his skin, whorls like ink sinking down to bone.

He didn't breathe a sigh of relief until Rodney let his touch wander down John's chest, sliding under his shirt to drag his fingers over John's nipple. "Cause crashing," he said added, trying not to arch, "is okay, too."

"You'll need it again, though?"

"You're telling me it was a hardship?" He meant the words as a tease, but the silence afterwards lay heavily. John forced his eyes open, pushing his hips back onto the bed and pointedly not looking at Rodney's groin -- or his own, for that matter, pants obscenely tented. "It's not something I need that often."

"But you like it when I hurt you." Rodney's fingers found the mark on his neck again, and god, it'd been so damned hard not to yank the collar of his shirt down and proudly display the bruise to anyone not so stupid they wouldn't understand. He hadn't, though, and in a way that had been even better.

He moaned as Rodney dug his thumb into the bruise, hips jerking in reaction. "So I'm a little kinky," he gasped.

Rodney's chuckle was the first good noise he'd made since they'd arrived. "More than a _little_ , John. But that's okay. I like a little -- or even a lot -- kinky."

It wouldn't be the end of it, John knew. Rodney needed to know everything and he'd want to know the whys and the hows and the details of every previous encounter, right down to the bruises John had taken away like medals. Pillowing his head on Rodney's shoulder, John's muscles liquid and warm as Rodney ran a possessive hand over his chest, stopping to shove his hips one way, then another as Rodney discovered the bruises there and unzipped John for better access. John let him, eyes half-closed and content. Maybe, the next time Rodney asked, he'd be okay about giving those answers. Maybe not. Either way, John knew the next time he needed it -- and he hoped as much as he knew Rodney did that it was a long, long way off -- Rodney be there to give it to him.

In the meantime, though, Rodney was lipping over his cock, dragging his teeth carefully down the vein on the underside, and John had said 'sixty-nine'. He buried his smirk of triumph in Rodney's skin, already lost from that too-soft skin dragging against his lips and over the stubble on his face. "Mm," he hummed, sucking the tip into his mouth.

Rodney's agreement made his entire body vibrate.


End file.
